


shifting focus

by estrella30



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-24 00:12:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2560898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estrella30/pseuds/estrella30
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Zayn, what the fuck!” Louis yelps. “Are you having a <i>stroke</i>?” He sounds so distressed Zayn figures he should possibly be taking this situation a bit more seriously. “Mate, you were papped getting your <i>dick sucked</i> by <i>Harry fucking Styles</i> last night. In an alley outside a club in the middle of the <i>street</i>.”</p><p>“You just called it an alley and then the middle of a street in the same sentence, Lou,” Zayn says. He can’t help it, he feels like he’s going to start laughing at any minute. “Which one was it?”</p><p>Louis huffs. Zayn can hear him, huffing quietly, taking in a deep breath and then blowing it out audibly into the receiver five times in a row. He must have learned that in therapy. </p><p>“I don’t know, Zayn. Why don’t you tell me?” Louis asks calmly. “After all, <i>I</i> wasn’t the one getting my cock out with a popstar in public last night.”</p><p>Zayn <i>tsk</i>s quietly. “Pity.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>or - Zayn is a model and Harry is a popstar and they get papped shagging in public</p>
            </blockquote>





	shifting focus

**Author's Note:**

  * For [catholicschoolgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/catholicschoolgirl/gifts).



> For catholicschoolgirl! I was TRYING to make this more angsty for you, but it def wound up more snarky and bantery and sexy than angsty. I AM SORRY. I hope you like it even a bit!
> 
> Thanks so much to my beta for fixing all the comma issues with this and helping w the ending. You are the best!! Any remaining mistakes are my own!

*

 

This is how it starts: 

It’s dark out, and the brick wall is rough against Zayn’s back. He grunts and shifts up, presses against Harry and slips his thigh in between Harry’s legs. Harry shivers, crowds Zayn back and leans one hand on the wall on each side of Zayn’s face. Zayn looks up and blinks and Harry smirks down at him. 

It’s late but the air is still warm and the streets around them are noisy. Music and laughter from inside the club assault Zayn’s ears every time the door swings open, before falling back shut with a heavy thud. He can hear cars on the street in the distance; the skid of tires and the blast of horns honking. The sounds of Los Angeles at night settle into his skin and race through his bones, make him feel frantic and needy. He groans deep in his throat, sinks his fingers into Harry’s hair and tugs him in, biting at Harry’s mouth and curling their tongues together. 

Zayn’s trying very hard not to think about the fact that he’s snogging Harry bloody Styles around the corner from a club in the middle of Los Angeles because honestly, it’s probably not the smartest idea he’s ever had. 

The _smart_ idea would have been to not smile back when Harry had first caught his eye across the bar a few hours ago. Harry had pulled a face and stuck his tongue out to make Zayn grin, and the smart thing would have been if Zayn had turned his head away right then and pretended to not see Harry do it. That’s what Zayn _should_ have done.

The smart thing also, would have been for Zayn to not accept the first drink Harry sent over for him after that smile, and then the second drink, and then the third. Even smarter would have been to not stand there talking to Harry for the rest of the night, ignoring the warning looks Liam was sending him until he finally gave up and went home on his own around one am. 

The smartest thing still would have been to stop drinking all the fruity drinks and shots he and Harry were drinking. Zayn should have just said goodbye and gone home when Liam did, pretended not to notice how pretty Harry’s face is, or how big his hands are. Zayn could have left and maybe he would have wondered just a bit what Harry’s mouth might have tasted like under the slick sweetness of the drinks he’d been drinking, but that would have passed, Zayn’s sure of it. By morning he wouldn’t have given a toss about Harry Styles, or his pretty face and his big hands. 

He didn’t do any of those things, though. Not by a long shot. 

But it’s fine, Zayn figures. Completely fine. He’s just - he’s not thinking about it. He should have been smart and he wasn’t. It happens. It’s been a long day - Christ, it’s been a long _week_ \- and if Zayn wants to not think about things and get his mouth on a fit and sexy popstar instead, then for once he feels he’s fucking earned it. 

Harry curls his hand over the curve of Zayn’s jaw and tilts his mouth to the side. Zayn stops thinking about pretty much everything, right then and there anyway. 

“You’re so fucking pretty,” Harry says on a sigh. He leans in and kisses Zayn so deeply Zayn can barely breathe. Zayn feels ripped open, his hands are shaking and his insides are all twisted up tight. He plants his feet on the ground and rocks his hips up. Harry groans, bites Zayn’s lip and slides his hand down from Zayn’s chin over the arch of his throat. His fingers twitch before they close over Zayn’s throat tentatively, and Zayn feels every one of his nerves light up with how much he needs from Harry already. How he barely knows him and he feels like he’d give Harry anything he would ask for. 

“Fuck,” Zayn whimpers. Harry’s fingers tighten just the slightest bit and Zayn’s dick throbs. He grabs Harry by the hips, digs his fingers into the soft flesh at Harry’s sides and yanks him in tight and Harry goes, tilting his head the smallest amount so Zayn can see his face and his eyes and his smile. 

This smug fucking twat is _smirking_ at him. 

“You’re so fucking fit,” Harry says. His voice is smooth and low. He dips his head and kisses Zayn again, slips his hand from Zayn’s throat down his chest, his fingers sliding between the button of Zayn’s shirt and stroking his skin. Somewhere in the back of his mind Zayn realizes that they’re outside, for fucks sake. Sure they’re tucked away in a corner where no one can really see them, but this is LA and nothing’s ever completely private, not really. 

Harry reaches for the waist of Zayn’s jeans and Zayn curls his fingers around Harry’s wrist for a split second because this is insane. Zayn should have better control. He shouldn’t be so fucking easy for a pretty popstar with a slow smile but Harry’s got an eyebrow cocked like he’s daring Zayn to stop him, and Zayn might not really know this kid but he knows for damn sure that he’s not going to let him _win_.

“You want me to stop?” Harry asks. His eyebrow is arched high, the corner of his mouth twitching with the start of a grin, like he already knows the answer. Like he knows Zayn doesn’t want him to stop at all. Harry’s hair is dark and pieces are falling out from the messy bun he’d twisted it into when they first started talking. Zayn wants to pull on his hair and yank him closer and see just how many things Harry would let him do. Zayn thinks it might be a lot. 

Now though, Harry drags his knuckles down the front of Zayn’s jeans, over his prick and Zayn hisses and bites his lip. He pulls Harry closer and takes Harry by the wrist again, pushing Harry’s hand down the front of his jeans. 

“I didn’t think so,” Harry says, words curling around a chuckle. 

“Fuck, do you ever shut up?” Zayn asks. He’s proud of his voice being so steady. He wants to shove Harry around and push him down until his knees hit the ground and Zayn can stuff his dick in Harry’s mouth to get him to stop talking. 

Harry laughs quietly, but his hand is in Zayn’s pants now, fingers stroking Zayn’s dick so Zayn decides to let him laugh. Zayn can always get him back later. There’s still a few hours until morning, and Zayn’s not planning on letting Harry head home before Zayn gets his own hands on him. He wants to feel Harry’s skin and see if he begs and moans as pretty as Zayn thinks he will. 

A breeze picks up, the light wind blowing through Zayn’s hair and cooling the back of his neck. Zayn’s eyes are closed, the brick rough and tugging on the cotton of his shirt and his fingers are clenched tight into fists. Harry kisses the side of Zayn’s mouth, the edge of his jaw. He licks down the hollow of Zayn’s throat and grins before sinking to his knees and pulling Zayn’s dick out. 

Harry licks over the head, squeezes his fingers around the base and as Zayn arches his back, fucking deep into Harry’s throat he so, so faintly hears: _click_.

*

Zayn wakes in the morning to the sun blaring through his bedroom windows and Liam angrily tossing Zayn’s mobile at his chest. Zayn’s so startled he bolts upright and nearly pisses himself in bed, the covers falling down around his waist as he looks up at Liam and glares. 

“What the fuck?” Zayn grumbles. 

“I’ve been ringing you all bloody morning,” Liam huffs. He’s pacing around Zayn’s room, kicking aside piles of clothes Zayn’s meant to be trying on and letting him and Louis know what he wants to walk in at the Burberry show. He has half a mind to let Liam know that the trousers he’s currently stepping on are a sample pair and probably worth more than Zayn’s last three cars added together, but Liam looks furious, his face bright red and his jaw tight. Zayn thinks it might do him well to keep quiet for a minute. 

“I told Louis that I would look after you last night - and I was!” Liam starts rambling. He’s acting as if he and Zayn are already in the middle of a conversation and Zayn has any idea what’s happening, instead of the _actual_ situation which is that he’s just woken Zayn up from a dead sleep and Zayn has no fucking clue what he’s talking about. Liam’s pacing the room, dragging his hands through his hair and yanking on the ends in frustration as he babbles, and Zayn is trying to have sympathy stress but he’s got no earthly idea what’s going on. All he really knows for certain is that Liam is worked up about something and Zayn desperately needs a fag. 

All things considered it’s a fairly normal morning. 

“You did a good job, Liam,” Zayn mumbles nonchalantly, reaching out to try and pat Liam on the arm. Liam always likes that. “Always do.” He feels around at the covers and aha! There’s a pack of fags shoved under his pillow. Probably not the safest thing in the world but who cares right now. Zayn gets one from the pack and holds it between his fingers. He looks up at Liam, blinks sadly and sticks his bottom lip out. “Hey, have you got a--”

“A lighter? Of _course_ ,” Liam says a bit manically. He shoves his hand in his pocket and pulls one out. When he leans over to light Zayn’s cigarette, his eyes are glittering, voice thick with sarcasm. “Do you mean to set yourself on fire by smoking in bed on my watch as well? Because that would be a _perfect_ addition to my morning.”

Zayn ignores him. He takes a long pull and sucks the smoke deep into his lungs. The first hit in the morning is almost as good as sex, and Zayn savors it, blows it out slowly toward the ceiling as he reaches for the ashtray he keeps on his bedside table. 

“Are you going to tell me what’s got you all worked up or can I go back to sleep sometime soon,” Zayn asks blandly. He’s known Liam for years and while Liam always means well, sometimes things like Louis insisting that Zayn wear burgundy pants at fashion week when Liam thinks it’d be better if he wore grey are cause for alarm in Liam’s world. 

Zayn appreciates that sometimes, he does. Lord knows Zayn can’t usually be arsed enough about anything to actually fight Louis on it, so if Liam wants to take up Zayn’s battles for him, well, that‘s why Zayn pays him as far as he’s concerned. It’s just numbed Zayn to Liam’s reactions about some things though. He doesn’t want to call them _over_ reactions because when he does Liam gets cross. 

Liam is proper angry right now though. His face is still flushed pink and he’s found Zayn’s mobile amongst the covers and jabs Zayn’s code with his finger. The screen flips on and Liam is muttering under his breath as he types in whatever he’s looking for. Zayn lets him fuss around. He finishes his cigarette and stubs out the head, stretching his arms out over his head and yawning. He’s got his back nicely cracked and has already moved on to scratching his belly and chest when Liam throws his mobile at him again, this time hitting Zayn right on the dick. 

Now Zayn’s pissed. 

“ _Hey_ ,” he grumps. He frowns and glares in Liam’s direction, tapping the screen of his mobile to enlarge whatever mini article and picture Liam’s saved for him that he seems so intent on Zayn reading. “Watch what the fuck you’re--” he says before the words die on his tongue as he squints and tries to bring the picture in better focus. 

It looks familiar, is the thing. The street or the lights or the signs around it. Zayn can’t tell for a second exactly what the picture is, and then it’s like his eyes do that thing where you’re looking at one of those puzzles and the whole time you think it’s a tree, but then everything shifts and suddenly it’s a beach scene with a boat on the water. He can’t see it and he can’t see it and he can’t see it, and then _bam_. He sees it and once he does he can’t see anything else. 

“Oh,” Zayn says flatly. He taps the screen again so the picture zooms back out but it’s like now that he knows what it is he can never unknow it. He’s seen it and it’s out there forever. Huh. 

He looks up at Liam who’s still frowning at him, arms folded tightly across his chest. 

Zayn knows he’s got to say something. Liam’s not going to let him just sit here in his bed all day and ignore...well, everything that’s happening right now apparently. Liam’s tapping his foot and his eyebrows are so high up his forehead they’re nearly touching his hairline. He looks like he’s waiting for an answer or an explanation of some kind, so Zayn does all he can possibly do, which is raising one shoulder in a shrug and grinning at Liam lightly. “Oops?”

*

The rest of the morning is a slew of different bollockings, the likes of which make Zayn feel lucky he’d woken up to Liam nearly breaking his dick off because that’s the kindest conversation he’s had all day. 

“I just - I don’t understand,” Louis is insisting over and over again. Zayn’s had a stabbing pain over his left eye since he turned the ringer on his phone after Liam left around noon, everyone from Simon to Louis to his _mum_ phoning him. 

“Do you _like_ Harry Styles?” Louis asks. “Is that what this is about?” He sounds so confused. Zayn would feel bad if he felt like feeling anything about this whole situation at all. As it is all he can concentrate on is whatever it is that’s banging around in the background from where Louis had called him. Zayn would think it was a pan of some sort, but that would mean Louis is cooking and that doesn’t ever happen unless he’s making pot brownies. 

“Are you making pot brownies?” Zayn asks. He’s got his hair tied back in a headband and is twisting one of the longer strands by his neck around his finger. “That’d be sick.”

“Zayn, what the fuck!” Louis yelps. “Are you having a _stroke_?” He sounds so distressed Zayn figures he should possibly be taking this situation a bit more seriously. “Mate, you were papped getting your _dick sucked_ by _Harry fucking Styles_ last night. In an alley outside a club in the middle of the _street_.”

“You just called it an alley and then the middle of a street in the same sentence, Lou,” Zayn says. He can’t help it, he feels like he’s going to start laughing at any minute. “Which one was it?”

Louis huffs. Zayn can hear him, huffing quietly, taking in a deep breath and then blowing it out audibly into the receiver five times in a row. He must have learned that in therapy. 

“I don’t know, Zayn. Why don’t you tell me?” Louis asks calmly. “After all, _I_ wasn’t the one getting my cock out with a popstar in public last night.”

Zayn _tsk_ s quietly. “Pity.”

Louis groans, long and drawn out. “Zayn, you have to help me here, all right? Because Simon is _flipping his shit_. Apparently the heads of Burberry and Gucci and Ferragamo and whoever else you’re _supposed_ to be walking for soon don’t want the face of their new line to have been in the papers for taking his kit off in public. It doesn’t matter to them that you’re _Zayn Malik_ , fresh new face of twenty fourteen or whatever the fuck Simon’s been selling them. _Especially_ since according to half the sites you’ve deflowered Harry Styles who’s like, glitter and rainbows and light singing songs about _making yourself a better person tra la la_ or some such shit on the radio.”

And _that_ Zayn has to laugh at. “Wait, they think that _Harry’s_ sweet and innocent?” Zayn thinks back on Harry’s smile and his smirk and the way he snapped his gum as he grinned down at Zayn when he palmed his cock in the middle of the club. “Ha.”

Louis groans, long and overdramatic. “So it’s just _Harry_ now, is it?”

“Should I be calling him Mr. Styles?” Zayn asks. 

“I don’t know, Zayn!” Louis yelps. “Up until this morning I didn’t think you’d be calling him anything at all!”

Zayn shrugs. He doesn’t understand what all the fuss is about really. He’d met Harry and they each thought the other was fit and then hooked up outside the club. What’s the big deal. 

Zayn says as much and it’s almost as if he can hear Louis rolling his eyes from the other end of the line. 

“The big deal,” Louis explains, trying to sound calm, “is that Harry’s got a nice image and you’re _supposed_ to have a nice image and two boys with nice images don’t take their wangs out in the middle of the street where anyone with an iPhone can snap a picture and sell it to the papers.”

Zayn finds another cigarette and lights it. This whole day is stressing him out. “Huh.”

Louis huffs again. “Anyway, Simon wants you to go to dinner with him. Some place nice and respectable in Beverly Hills.”

“With Simon?” Zayn says. He lets his lips curve into a smile and laughs a little. “I didn’t know I was his type.”

“ _Zayn._ ” Louis sounds ready to murder. “Not dinner with Simon, you dumb cunt, dinner with Harry Styles. Or just _Harry_ because apparently you two are on a chummy, first name basis.”

“Well I did have my dick in his mouth last night as you keep pointing out,” Zayn reminds him. “I mean--”

“Dinner. Eight o’clock. I’ll send a car,” Louis snaps and hangs up on him. 

Zayn takes another drag off his cigarette and checks the time. It’s nearly five and he’s got nine new messages on his mobile since he started talking to Louis. Zayn could answer them. Or he could delete them. Or he could try and get in touch with Harry somehow and talk to him before they meet up at dinner in...three hours apparently.

He decides to stub out his cigarette and flick off the lights, crawling under the covers and pulling them up high over his head. A nap sounds good right about now. Zayn figures he’ll deal with the rest of it later. 

*

Traffic is awful, so Zayn gets to dinner fifteen minutes late. When he walks into the restaurant Harry’s already sat at a corner table, leaned back in his chair with his long legs stretched out in front of him and drinking a glass of red wine. He’s in a black shirt that’s unbuttoned so low Zayn can see every one of the tattoos on his chest, his hair is long and soft and loose around his face. He’s got on a pair of dark sunglasses, and when he sees Zayn coming in he beams, lifting his other hand and waving it high over his head. 

Zayn stops walking mid-step and frowns. Honestly, could Harry maybe even _try_ and play it a _bit_ cooler? He pulls his mobile from his pocket and texts Liam. 

_did I actually shag this asshole?_

_yes_ , Liam texts back, _and in the middle of a bloody street so be niiiiiiice_

Zayn huffs and shoves his mobile back into his pocket. This is fine. He can completely do this. Zayn saw about six paps outside the restaurant when he pulled up so he’s sure they’ve gotten Harry’s picture as he went inside and now they have Zayn’s as well. All Zayn has to do is sit through dinner with Harry and then leave with him and if everyone manages to keep their trousers on and their dicks off TMZ by morning, he figures Simon will be happy. 

Harry stands up and takes his sunglasses off, laying them carefully down on the table. He waves Zayn over again, as if Zayn happened to miss him the first time around. For a famous popstar Harry apparently has zero chill.

“Jesus,” Zayn says when he reaches the table. Harry’s come around to pull Zayn’s chair out for him and he bows a little, rolling his hand in the air and gesturing for Zayn to sit down. What a dork. “Can you try and play it a bit cooler, mate?”

Harry scrunches his face up while Zyn sits. “I don’t know,” he says voice pitched low. Zayn didn’t remember how deep Harry’s voice was from the night before. He shivers a bit and tells himself they must be sat in a cold spot in the restaurant. “I don’t think I’d be very good at it,” Harry answers. His eyebrows are furrowed as if he’s actually thinking about it. “I’d have to try quite hard.”

Zayn laughs in spite of himself and shakes his head. He remembers now that Harry is kind of genuinely _funny_. Harry grins back at him, dimples pressing into his cheeks and sits down across from Zayn. He drags his chair over so they’re closer to each other at the table and looks down almost shyly. Harry’s quiet for a second, long fingers fiddling with the bottom of the stem of his wine glass and Zayn tries to ignore how good Harry smells and how big his hands look wrapped around the delicate glass. 

“So today was...interesting,” Harry finally says. 

Zayn feels his face go warm. He looks down and toys with his own glass and tries not to remember how Harry’s hands felt on him, or how fast Zayn came when Harry started sucking his dick. 

“I’ve had more relaxing mornings for sure,” Zayn finally answers. He looks up and Harry’s already watching him, his eyes bright and almost laughing 

“Was it so terrible really?” Harry asks. He kicks his foot out, tapping his boot against Zayn’s under the table. “I mean, I could have done without the photos, but overall?”

Zayn opens his mouth to tell Harry how awful everything was and how they probably shouldn’t have done anything where they could have been seen, but Harry’s still watching him quietly, his lips quirked in a small smirk. Zayn can see the glitter of the necklaces hanging around Harry’s neck. His shirt is opened low and Harry’s skin looks smooth and warm. 

Zayn’s saved from having to answer anything at all by the server coming over and introducing herself before asking if they want to hear the specials. 

“I’d love to,” Harry says, looking up and giving her a smile so bright Zayn could swear the girl sways on her feet. _Same, girl_ , Zayn thinks to himself. _Same_. 

“I always like to hear what’s on the menu,” Harry continues. “Keep all of my options open, yeah?”

Under the table Harry’s foot presses on top of Zayn’s and Harry shifts closer until their thighs are leaned into each other. He can feel the heat from Harry’s body and an image flashes through his mind: Harry pressed up against him, the brick rough against Zayn’s back. He remembers the sweetness of Harry’s mouth, the slick press of his tongue and the way he’d knotted his fingers deep in Zayn’s hair. 

“You like that too, right, Zayn?” Harry asks. Zayn swallows thickly. His tongue feels clumsy in his mouth. “Keeping your options open?” 

Harry’s pretending to be innocent, blinking his eyes wide and smiling just the smallest amount. Zayn wants nothing more than to throw Harry on the table and rip off all of his clothes. Simon was worried about Zayn getting his dick sucked by Harry tucked around a corner in a dark alley? He’d better be damned worried about Zayn getting on his knees for Harry in the middle of a bloody restaurant in Beverly Hills.

“Yeah,” Zayn says, his voice is so strangled he barely recognizes it. “Lots of options. Options are good.”

*

The specials are some kind of fish thing and a chicken dish that Harry decides not to order because the server wasn’t able to definitively answer if the chicken had had a happy life before it was caught. “That makes a difference, you know,” Harry had told Zayn seriously after she’d walked away. “Happy chickens are much better to use in dishes than unhappy ones.”

“Well I reckon that once the chicken gets caught it’s not happy at all anymore,” Zayn answers. He wonders what happened to his life that this is an actual conversation he’s having with a popstar who he shagged in an alley the night before. “So if you look at it that way, _no_ chicken dishes are made with happy chickens.”

Harry just blinked at him for a bit and then ordered the pasta when the server came back.

Everything about Harry is just...strange, though. He’s charming but in the oddest, most quirky way possible. He eats things with his tongue first and tells the most ridiculous stories that have little to no bearing on anything else they’re talking about. He has _awful_ jokes, truly terrible knock knock things and puns that have Zayn rolling his eyes so far back in his head he’s lucky he doesn’t pass out from the strain. Everything Harry tries to explain takes about ten times longer than it probably should and all the stories involve someone’s baby or a puppy or a person who’s as old as Zayn’s nan. 

Harry smiles all the damn time about everything too. It’s baffling. Zayn has literally never met a person who seems as genuinely happy to just _be_ as Harry does. They don’t get bothered much during dinner, but the few times people approach him, Harry’s gracious and friendly. He signs things and takes pictures and tells a little girl a story about the time he found an orange in a box and ate it and was sick for a week after, and that’s why she should be careful when she eats strange fruit. Zayn literally can’t believe what he’s hearing. 

He’s just...he’s sweet, and funny, and fit, and bloody fucking hell, Zayn really kind of _likes_ him. 

“Penny for your thoughts,” Harry says quietly. Zayn looks up, cheeks flushing guiltily when he realizes how long he’s probably just zoned out for. Harry doesn’t say anything else, he’s sitting quietly in his chair, staring intently at Zayn, eyes bright green and sparkling. His bottom lip is full and pink from where he’s pinching it between two fingers and Zayn can’t stop looking at him. The flush of Harry’s cheeks and the way his chest moves in and out with each slow breath. 

Zayn wants to bite him. He wants to spread Harry out and taste every inch of his skin with his tongue. They were only together one time, but Zayn thinks he can imagine how loud Harry would be if Zayn could get him into a room - fuck, into a _bed_ \- and be able to do all of the dirty things he can’t seem to stop thinking about. Harry on his back, Zayn buried deep inside him. Harry on his knees, Zayn’s tongue licking him out while Harry whimpers and begs Zayn to keep going, to fuck into him harder. Just the idea of Harry naked and spread out on Zayn’s bedsheets has his dick going thick, his belly quivering with want and need. 

Zayn’s pulse kicks up. He licks his lips, rattles out a thick breath. 

Harry’s gaze drops down to look at Zayn’s mouth and he licks his own lips, slow and steady. His tongue is pink and wet. “More than a penny?” Harry teases softly. 

Zayn can barely breathe with as much as he wants him. “‘M’not sure they’re even worth that much,” he answers. 

Harry chuckles, his voice rich and smooth and curling through the air between them. Their dinners are finished, the plates have been cleared and the dessert menu is lying on the tablecloth. Harry sits up and pulls his chair closer to Zayn. Zayn can smell his cologne and the mint he popped in his mouth after eating. His hair is falling over his left eye and cheek. 

“So,” Harry says. He touches Zayn’s leg, palm resting flat on top of Zayn’s thigh and Zayn can feel his muscles jump. He can’t remember the last time he was this fucking easy for someone. “I know this was a - whatever - an attempt to _rescue our images_ or summat, but I’m really glad we did this tonight.”

Zayn nods. He clears his throat and looks up. Harry’s still smirking at him, mouth curved in a sharp grin and he cracks down on the mint between his teeth. 

“Me too,” Zayn says. 

His mobile buzzes from his pocket and Zayn looks away, shifts in his seat to pull it out. When he moves, his shoulder brushes back against Harry’s chest and Harry slips an arm around Zayn’s shoulders and pulls him in. Zayn could swear he feels Harry’s lips brush over the shell of his ear and he shivers. 

_How’s everything going?_ Is the first text from Louis, followed by, _Are you behaving yourself?_

Zayn chuckles and shakes his head. He can feel Harry craning his neck to see over Zayn’s shoulder and Zayn tilts his phone up so Harry can read the message. 

“Agent?” Harry asks. 

Zayn snorts. “As if. No, Lou is more like a best mate, manager, agent type, PR-ish person. Who is _very_ annoying.”

“Ahh,” Harry says and nods. “Kind of like my mate Niall. Like I pay him, but I have no actual idea why. All he seems to do is put in my takeaway orders in hotels, eat half of the food when it comes in, and tell me about all the shit I’m doing wrong.”

Zayn laughs. “We should set them up. They sound like they’d be a perfect fit. Add in my over-protective mate Liam from back home and maybe they could all just bitch about us together and leave us alone for once.”

Harry’s fingers spread out over Zayn’s shoulder, his thumb pressing against a muscle just below his neck. He nods his head into Zayn’s and motions at the mobile Zayn’s still not answered. “You want to tell him how well behaved we’ve both been?” Harry asks. “Assure him I’ve been the perfect gentleman all night?”

“We’ll see,” Zayn mutters, but he’s already typing in, _everything’s fine, he’s not that bad_ and sending it off. 

“ _Hey_ ,” Harry whines. He steps on Zayn’s foot and squeezes Zayn’s shoulder, trailing his fingers down his arm and over his ribs. Zayn’s heart kicks in his chest. Harry’s barely touched him and Zayn’s already so hard he can barely think straight, his dick pressed tight against the zip of his trousers.

Zayn’s mobile buzzes again. 

_Good. If it all works out you’re taking him to the Kings game Friday_

Harry makes a soft sound in the back of his throat and he leans in close, breath hot against Zayn’s ear. His hand is curled over Zayn’s belly, fingers dipping under his shirt and tickling Zayn’s skin. Zayn plants his feet on the floor. He lets his legs fall open the slightest bit and Harry groans, buries his face in the side of Zayn’s hair and kisses the side of his throat. 

Zayn looks up and blinks because it’s true that they’re in the back corner of the restaurant, but they’re in goddamn _public_ again and Louis will _murder_ him if the dinner date to save Zayn’s reputation results in more pictures of him getting off in public. He will literally chop Zayn up into tiny pieces and it’ll take forty thousand years for them to find where he’s hid the body.

“Harry, Hazza, wait,” Zayn says. Harry grunts in frustration and looks up. His eyes are glassy, his cheeks flushed a hectic pink. He’s biting his bottom lip and he’s looking at Zayn like he wants to _eat_ him. Zayn is more than okay with that. 

“Do you--” his mobile buzzes again, _Does that work? Kings game?_ and Jesus fucking _Christ_ , Louis, can he get a bloody minute? 

“Do you like hockey?” Zayn finally manages to get out. It’s hard to think with Harry’s hand pressing down against Zayn’s cock, his fingers curling around the length and giving him a quick stroke. 

Harry looks down at Zayn’s mouth and doesn’t manage to look back up again. He sways closer, lips brushing over the corner of Zayn’s mouth. “Love it,” he says. 

“Good. Apparently we’ve got a date to the Kings game,” Zayn says, then stands up and pulls Harry from his chair and through the restaurant after him. “Now come on.”

*

They don’t make it home, but they at least make it to the men’s room, and this time Zayn checks to make sure there’s no one else in there while Harry locks the door behind them. Harry’s laughing breathlessly, and Zayn is part amused at himself, part disgusted because since when is he so desperate for a shag that he can’t even make it _home_ to have one? Two bloody nights in a row?

“This is ridiculous,” Zayn mutters. It doesn’t stop him from yanking his belt off and tossing it to the floor, the buckle rattling against the tile. 

Harry laughs and crowds in against him. He’s beaming at Zayn, face bright open and happy and Zayn can’t stop his heart from fluttering at how fit Harry is, how gorgeous and funny and how much Zayn desperately, desperately wants him. 

“You’re so fit,” Harry murmurs. He’s talking through his smile and it’s so close to everything Zayn had just thought about him that Zayn has to smile back, his face stretching wide into a grin. He laughs up at Harry and Harry shakes his head, tips his head down to kiss him and everything in Zayn gets all twisted up. He’s happy but also anxious and he wants Harry so badly he’s aching with it. His dick is still hard and his hands are shaking and Harry cups his hands over Zayn’s face, kisses him tenderly before making it deeper, wilder and dirty. 

Harry bites at Zayn’s mouth and Zayn tips his head back, wanting Harry to mark his throat. Harry groans, drops down to bite at Zayn’s skin and his hands slide from Zayn’s face over his sides until he’s gripping Zayn’s hips, lifting him up and sitting him on the counter between the sinks. 

“Classy,” Zayn breathes out. He doesn’t care much because Harry’s yanking open Zayn’s shirt, peppering his chest with kisses and Zayn’s hands are pulling the last few of Harry’s shirt buttons open as well. 

“Only the best for my boy,” Harry says, voice thick and low. Zayn doesn’t want to think about what it means that hearing Harry calling him _his boy_ has him nearly blowing his load in his pants before Harry even gets a hand on him. He’ll think about that tomorrow, maybe. Or maybe not. Who the fuck cares, really.

Harry finally gets Zayn’s shirt open and off and then he yanks at the button and zip on Zayn’s trousers. Zayn thinks idly about how these trousers are Gucci, not even out for sale in public yet, and in the next few minutes they’ll be on a dirty restroom floor in a heap because he’s getting his dick sucked by Harry Styles. 

Jesus. 

Harry pulls off Zayn’s trousers and pants and tosses them on the floor exactly like Zayn thought he would. Zayn doesn’t think about much else after that though, because Harry’s following the pants onto the floor, dropping to his knees and settling between Zayn’s thighs. 

“Zayn, let me--” Harry pushes Zayn’s leg to the side so he can move in closer, and Zayn can already feel the heat from his mouth, his warm breath blowing over the head of his dick. “I want you so fucking much,” Harry says, and laughs lightly. “Haven’t stopped thinking about you.”

Zayn groans and lets his head fall back. He wants to tell Harry so many things and it’s like once they float into his head he can’t stop himself from saying them, not this time at least. 

“Fuck, Harry, you’re so fucking fit,” Zayn chokes out. Harry sucks Zayn deep, the head of his cock snugging up against the back of Harry throat and they both moan, broken and loud echoing in the small mens room. “Been thinking about this since last night. Your hand and your mouth and _fuck_ , you’re so fucking _good_.” Harry whimpers at that and Zayn pets clumsily at his head, smoothing the hair back from his forehead. 

Harry’s mouth is so wet and his fingers are curled tight around the base of Zayn’s prick. Zayn can feel spit dribbling down the side of his cock and he forces himself to look down to try and watch but it’s too much. Harry’s cheeks are hollowed around him and his eyes are closed until he feels Zayn move and then he opens them, blinks wide green eyes at Zayn, the corners glistening wet as Zayn fucks deeper into Harry’s mouth. 

Zayn curls his fingers around the edge of the counter and ruts his hips up. Harry nods, shifts in closer and moans around Zayn’s cock and Zayn takes that to mean that it’s okay, that he can go deeper if he needs. He bites his lip and goes harder, the head of his cock pushed in tight against the back of Harry’s throat. It doesn’t take long for Zayn to feel his orgasm racing through him and he takes Harry’s wrist, pushes it down so Harry’s cupping his balls as he fucks in tight, shoving his cock deep and comes wet and messy down Harry’s throat. 

Harry swallows most of it, only pulling away at the very end and the last few drops glistening on his lips and chin. His eyes are glassy, mouth red and wet and bruised, and the sight of him still kneeling on the floor, his lips wet from Zayn’s come is the dead sexiest thing Zayn’s ever seen. 

Zayn slides off the counter and meets Harry on the floor, taking his face gently between Zayn’s hands and licking into his mouth. His stomach twists excitedly at the taste of himself on Harry’s tongue and Zayn thinks he could get used to this. Get used to kissing Harry and fucking Harry and having Harry around pretty much all of the time. 

Harry’s breathing heavy as they kiss and he whimpers, desperate little needy sounds that curl through every inch of Zayn’s skin. He drops his hands from Harry’s cheeks and lets himself touch Harry’s chest, his waist, the dip by his ribs and sides, and then meets Harry’s fingers at the button of his jeans, helping him get them open and his hand in the front of Harry’s pants. 

Harry’s cock is big and thick, already so, so wet and he curls in even closer, dropping his head on Zayn’s shoulder as Zayn pulls him off. Zayn’s fingers are messy and slick and Harry’s panting against his shoulder, biting at Zayn’s skin and scratching at him with his nails. 

It doesn’t take long for him to come and when he does he’s rolling his head back and forth on Zayn’s chest, his hair going tangled and knotty. He’s whimpering out Zayn’s name on a constant loop, soft murmurs of, “ _fuck, Zayn, please, please, god--_ ” and Zayn could probably die right here, he could never have a shag again in his entire life, and this moment would be the single hottest thing to ever happen to him. 

They stay on the floor for a few minutes - probably too many minutes if Zayn’s thinking correctly - and then he kisses Harry’s cheek, the shell of his ear, his forehead. Harry looks up and blinks at him almost sleepily. His face is wide open and Zayn feels like he knows what Harry’s feeling even if Harry isn’t saying it. Zayn’s pretty sure he feels same. 

“Hi,” Zayn says, quiet as a whisper. 

Harry smiles softly at him and leans in closer. “Hi,” he says back, then kisses Zayn gently on the mouth. This time it’s deep and slow, not frantic and needy like before. Before when they kissed it was more of a prelude of what was about to come, but this kiss is more like a _hello_ than a _hi, let’s fuck_. This kiss is quiet and light and almost sweet. 

Zayn can’t say he minds. 

Their lips move over each other, learning the way the other shifts and what they like, and Zayn keeps going, keeps kissing him and kissing him. He wants to kiss Harry forever it feels like. They only stop to fumble around with their clothes when someone knocks on the door, and when they leave it’s with their faces flushed and a happy glint in their eyes, shirts coming messily untucked from the back of their trousers and laughter trailing after them as they make their way from the restaurant. 

*

 

Zayn wakes in the morning to sunlight coming in bright through his windows, and his mobile bleating out text after text from wherever he’d dropped it on the floor last night. He groans and pulls a pillow over his face to block out the sun and his mobile finally blessedly stops buzzing and goes silent. 

And then it starts right back up again. 

“What the fuck, mate?” Harry rasps sleepily, and Zayn jumps, flinging the pillow off his face and throwing it onto the floor. 

“Shit,” Zayn curses. His heart is pounding at least three times its normal speed and the covers have all pooled around his waist when he sits straight up in bed. 

He presses a hand against his chest and looks over to find Harry stretched out under the covers, grinning up at him slowly. Harry’s cheek has a crease on it from Zayn’s pillows, and his skin is golden and soft. His hair is a tangle of brown curls spread out behind him and he reaches for Zayn, grabs him by the arm and pulls him back down into the bed. 

“Did you forget I was here?” Harry asks quietly. 

Zayn laughs and shakes his head. He would try and lie but he has a feeling Harry already knows the truth. “Maybe a bit.”

“Huh.” Harry pretends to frown. “I’d offer to leave and let you get back to sleep, but…”

Zayn waits for him to continue but Harry’s stopped talking, his mouth curved into a wide grin instead. 

“But?” Zayn prompts. 

“But you fell asleep before sucking me off last night so I’m not going anywhere,” Harry says, smiling at Zayn cheekily. 

Zayn chuckles and buries his face against Harry’s chest. Harry’s skin is warm and Zayn kisses the tip of the wing of one of the birds before lowering his head and dragging his teeth over Harry’s nipple. Harry sucks in a breath and digs his fingers into Zayn’s hair. He holds Zayn’s head carefully, his thumb brushing over the shell of Zayn’s ear. 

Zayn’s mobile starts buzzing _again_.

“Oh for fucks sake,” Zayn mumbles. He crawls over Harry and starts yanking through the pile of clothes on the floor next to the bed. He finds Harry’s shirt and Zayn’s socks and a pair of trousers he thinks are his own until it’s Harry’s mobile he pulls out instead. Another text comes through and Harry leans over with him, managing to find Zayn’s mobile and handing it to him. Zayn silences the buzzing and sits up to scroll through his texts. 

_Zayn WHAT THE FUCK_ Liam had sent first, and for the love of the Queen, Zayn thinks, what _now_?

_so I suppose you and Harry styles had a nice dinner???_

_and then had to go to the loo TOGETHERRRRR????_

_ZAYN THERE ARE PICTURES_

_AGAIN_

_ALL OVER THE PLACE CAN ThE tWO OF YOU MANAGE TO EVER NOT GET PAPPED WITH YOUR CLOTHES OFF_

_louis is going to kil you_

_louis is going to kill ME_

_idk why but he WILL_

_WHY CANT YOU TWO KEEP YOUR DICKS OUT OF THE PAPERS?????_

Zayn covers his eyes and hands the mobile to Harry, moaning quietly as Harry reads through the texts. When he’s finishes Harry just laughs and shrugs, pulling Zayn’s hand away from his eyes and kissing him hard on the mouth. 

“Well, at least it can’t get much worse,” Harry says when he pulls back. 

Zayn cocks his head and scrunches his face up. Harry looks oddly calm for a popstar who was papped coming out of a mens room after a shag _again_ last night. 

“I mean, start as you mean to go on and all,” Harry adds. 

Zayn blinks. “Because you mean to go on by getting papped after shagging people in public all the time?”

“No, idiot,” Harry says, and Zayn frowns because _hey_. “I mean like, I mean to go on with you. If it happens to start by us getting papped a few times, who cares, yeah?”

And oh. _Oh_. Zayn feels his face go warm, the tips of his ears and cheeks heating up. Harry touches Zayn’s chin and tips his face up and kisses him softly by the corner of his eye. 

“Is that all right?” Harry asks. 

Zayn swallows and nods. He can feel Harry smiling against his skin. “Yeah,” Zayn says, “Perfect.”

“All right. Good,” Harry says. He’s beaming at Zayn, eyes bright and smile wide. His hair is messy and he’s naked in Zayn’s bed and Zayn is going to have to deal with Liam again later and Louis and Simon and god knows who else. Harry’s kissing him again though, and pushing Zayn’s head down, spreading his legs wide and holding his dick up to Zayn’s mouth. 

“Now about that blowjob you owe me,” he says. Zayn laughs and takes Harry in his mouth and thinks that whatever happens next, he and Harry will make it worth it. 

 

-END-


End file.
